


The Ways We Are Alike

by orphan_account



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M, Multi, Other, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:58:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Amon can’t have sex with the real Avatar, then he’ll simulate it the best he can with a fake one. But venting his physical desires might accidentally bring his emotional desires to the forefront…and things will get complicated if Korra ever finds out. Trigger warning for brief (100% consensual) non-con simulation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Illusion

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Amorra Week Day 2: Illusion in 2012.

Amon clutched the scratchy wool collar of his jacket to his throat, trying to resist the urge to bend away the rain that the wind tossed in his face. His eyes ticked along the passers-by, eyeing each of them, paranoid that he would be recognized. That last time he had ventured above ground without his mask, he had been in his early thirties, and the Equalists were still a dream, scribbles on a napkin. Ever since then, he had worn a series of increasingly complex disguises — never like this, anonymous and vulnerable. He missed the weight of his hood and his mask. The wind in his hair made him feel as if he were going to float away. Only the bag at his side, heavier than it had any right to be, weighed him down, kept him grounded.

In spite of his paranoia, he arrived at his destination unscathed. A pleasantly plump woman stood behind a podium just inside in the doorway, with curled red-brown hair and heavy makeup. She gave him a pretty-yet-empty smile. “Evening, sir. What can I do for you?”

How long had it been since a woman had looked at him like that, like he was a human and not a god? His cheeks burned. “I hear that your establishment is in the business of realizing desires.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” she said without even flinching. “We are a wine club. If you like, I can show you a menu.”

He closed his eyes, longing for the security of his mask. “‘The sweetest notes are those that are left unplayed,’” he recited, hoping the passphrase he had overheard was correct.

“Ah. Those kinds of desires. Come with me.” She paused. “No outside bags allowed inside.”

He stared down at the bag, remembering that it was there. Was it too late to turn and flee? “It’s just some adornments. For the lady. I don’t want to presume — only if one will be so kind as to…” His throat was constricting, his voice squeaking for the first time in decades. Pull yourself together, Amon.

The woman cocked a brow at him, then snatched the bag from his hand and looked inside. A knowing smirk tugged at her lips, and he felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple.

“I have just the girl for you,” she said, and she led him up the stairs. The hallway was carpeted in red, with fine gold adornments and crystal lamps lining the walls; he felt claustrophobic, accustomed to the barren, unchallenging walls of his hideout. They passed several doorways, and with his peripheral vision — much broader now, without his mask — he saw that the rooms contained various numbers of people in various stages of intimacy. His muscles tensed. This is wrong. Look at them, letting their lust guide them, like animals. They are pathetic. You are better than this. But in spite of his panic, his pants were painfully tight, and that was what drove him forward.

His guide opened the door to a room. He stepped inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the candlelight. A girl sat on the bed, her knees drawn to her chest; when he stepped into the room, she unfolded herself and stood, slowly and gracefully, like an unfurling flower. His breath caught. She took a step forward, curved hip and strong shoulder swaying in counterbalance, and the anxiety drained from his body.

“Another fan of the Avatar,” said his guide, her matter-of-fact voice breaking the spell.

“I see,” said the girl in the room, and her voice was soft and husky. “Shall we discuss rate now, or would you like to pay on your way out?”

“Later will be fine,” he said, not sure he could think straight enough to manage finances at that moment.

The girl paced across the room to him, wearing only a transparent shift. As the candlelight flickered across her figure, he could see the faint outline of muscled arms and a lean frame, so like the Avatar’s, with bountiful breasts and long legs. Her hand trailed his chest, then his back as she walked around him, examining him. Amon held his breath, trying to keep his gaze steady.

Finally, she stood in front of Amon, a coy grin on her face. Her nose was a bit more snubbed than the Avatar’s, her cheeks a bit rounder, but the challenging blue eyes and cocked smile were uncannily similar. “I like what I see; this is going to be fun. Thank you, Mara. That will be all.” 

At the sound of the door closing behind him, his panic resurfaced. His eyes dropped away from hers as he shook his head. “I don’t know if I can-“

Her finger pressed to his lips. “It’s okay, handsome. You don’t have to be nervous. We’ll take it slowly. What’s your name?”

He eyed her evenly. “I have no name.”

With a laugh, she said, “Well, that’s no good. I need something to cry out.” She took the bag from his hands — panicked, he reached out to grab it back, but she had already opened it. Her eyes widened. “Well. I think I know what name to call you now.” She pulled out his mask, her fingers running over its surface. Her eyes bored through him, and for a moment, he thought she had figured out everything.

“A little roleplay, is it?” she asked. “A little Amon and The Avatar hatesex? I didn’t have you pegged as that type.”

He cleared his throat. “That’s a type?” Were citizens of Republic City pleasuring themselves to his fantasy?

“It is indeed a type,” she purred. “Lost men with no self-confidence, craving the power and the allure that Amon has to offer.” She shook her head at him. “But you’re different. You have a commanding presence, and with a face like that, I imagine you could make quite the impression on the real Avatar.”

“You’d be surprised,” he said, wishing for the thousandth time that he had the option.

She ran her tongue along the chin and nose of the mask in her hands, heavy-lidded eyes locked on him the entire time, and he felt his knees weaken. Then she set the mask aside and held up the hair ties he had brought. Without even looking in the mirror, she pulled her hair into a perfect mimicry of Korra’s style.

“For tonight, you are my Amon,” she said throatily, “and I am your Korra.”

It was wrong how badly the words turned him on. His enemy, his foe, a seventeen-year-old girl, a child. Yet, he was here to let his body safely lead, to give his mind a well-deserved rest, and so he surrendered. He heard a low growl slide from his throat as he marched closer, picking up the mask with one hand and buckling it on as he closed the distance between them.

“Before you start,” she said, holding up a hand, “a few ground rules. One, I call the shots. The safety word is ‘lamppost.’ You hear that word, you stop immediately, or else my associates will hunt you down and maim you. Two, no kissing on the lips. Got it?”

He nodded.

“Good. How shall we begin?”

“Get down on your knees,” he said, and when she obeyed, he hunched in front of her. His fingers gripped her chin, and in the dim light and the familiar positioning, she was transformed. Suddenly, Korra knelt front of him, and they were back on Avatar Aang Memorial Island. He stared into down into her frightened eyes. 

“What do you want from me, Amon?” she whispered.

In the memory, he had steeled himself, sticking to his scripted speech; here, in fantasy, he let his urges flow freely. His thumb slid along her jaw. “Last time we met, Avatar,” he growled, “I threatened to destroy you.”

Her eyes widened, a puff of fear tickling his fingertips at her lips.

“Brace yourself: the time has come.” His hand dropped to her throat, squeezing just tightly enough to be a threat, but not enough to hurt her. As she whimpered, his other hand drifted to her breast, then gripped it, shoving it hard against her rib cage. A shuddering breath escaped from his lips. It had been years since he had felt a breast. Years.

“You monster,” said Korra. “What are going to do with me?”

“Something I’ve wanted to do since I first laid eyes on you: tonight, I will make you mine.” He traced her trachea with a thumb, then dropped that hand to her breasts as well, fondling them both. She moaned and arched against him.

“Amon,” she moaned. “Please, stop. Don’t hurt me.”

The words jarred him from the fantasy, and he stared at her, seeing not Korra’s face, but the woman he had hired.

“It’s okay,” whispered his partner. “It’s just acting. Keep going.”

Still a bit conflicted, he pushed her back onto the floor, half-crawling, half-looming over her. He spread open her shift, and the contact of her bare breasts against his palms made his eyes roll back into his head.

“No!” said Korra. “Amon, no!”

He pulled away, stared numbly at her.

The woman sat up, her brows pinched. “What’s wrong?”

The realization froze him in place: I’m not here because I want her. I’m here because I want her to want me. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

Korra-who-was-not-Korra cupped the jaw of his mask. “Hey. It’s okay. We can take a minute if you need it.”

His eyes closed as he tried to hide from his embarrassment. “I want you to like it. I want her — Korra — to want it.”

Her hand smoothed his arm. “I’m sorry; I misread the situation. I’ll pretend to like it.”

The words were wrong, so wrong, on so many levels. Bile rose in his throat as we realized, for the first time, what he was actually doing. This was a perversion of his code of honour. “I should not have come.” He took off his mask and shoved it into the bag. He was disgusted with himself, both for disrespecting this girl by objectifying her, and for disrespecting the Avatar — but why should the latter bother him?

The girl was watching him with concern and pity, which made him feel even worse. “They’re going to charge you a fortune for your time here,” she said. “At least let me take care of this for you.” Her hand cupped the bulge straining at his pants, and heat rippled through his body. Paralyzed by indecision, he stared down at her. She looked so much like Korra. Korra’s face, eager to please him. Korra’s warm hand on his groin. His heart pounded, his breaths shuddering beyond his control.

“Please. I can tell how badly you need this.” She guided him to the bed, sat him down. He watched numbly as she pulled him out of his pants, breathed hot breath along his length, her blue eyes holding contact with his. Korra’s blue eyes. His hands curled into the edge of the mattress.

“Do you want me to stop?” she purred. He barely, almost imperceptibly, shook his head no, his eyes never dropping hers.

Then suddenly it was Korra’s tongue licking him from balls to tip, circling around the head, Korra’s lips wrapping around him, Korra’s eyes challenging him. She took him deep into her throat, and he heard himself cry out, voicing all the pent-up sexual energy he had been denying for days, months, years. The lovers he had rejected, the nights he had spent planning instead of out on the town: the heat of her mouth melted it all away.

Her hand closed around the shaft and she began to pump, her mouth matching the movements. His body longed to buck beneath her, longed to arch and toss his head back, but he stayed locked in place, transfixed by the sight. His Korra, just for tonight, his Korra taking joy in pleasuring him.

It was too much; he couldn’t hold back. He tried to warn her, but his lips were flared in a silent scream and would not form the words. She must have read the signs anyway, for her mouth fell away, her other hand taking its place.

“Come for me, Amon,” she whispered, and the words were so powerful that he lost all control, slamming into her fists to finish the last few strokes. Wave after wave of pleasure pulled him under, his euphoria augmented by the primal sight of liquid spurting, dripping, glistening down her breasts.

When the last shudder had rippled through his body, he fell back to the bed, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. She retrieved a handkerchief from the bedside table, and as she cleaned herself up, he stared at her muscled rear, trying to pretend, for just a little bit longer, that Korra was his. She came to sit beside him, smoothing the hair from his forehead, and he was surprised by the softness of her expression.

“You really are Amon, aren’t you?” she said quietly. “And you’re in love with the Avatar.”

His breath froze.

“No man comes that hard for another man’s name, “ she said, ”roleplay or no.”

“I tend to forget myself in my roles,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “I assure you, I am only pretending to be Amon.” It was the most honest thing he had said in years, the closest he had ever come to a true confession, and he could tell by her look that she didn’t believe him.

“You poor man,” she whispered. “Torn between your goals and your heart.”

Hoisting his bag over his shoulder — it felt lighter now than before — he said only, “Goodnight.”

“You are welcome to come back again.” She leaned forward and pressed a shallow kiss to his lips, then pulled away with a small smile. “Now that I know what you want, I can oblige you. I can help you vent your forbidden desires, no matter how impossible they may seem.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “But I won’t be back.”

They both knew he was lying.


	2. Miles Adrift, Inches Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tip-off about Amon’s whereabouts leads Korra to discover more than she bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assumes Amon can detect his element (blood). Was written for Amorra Week Day 7 (Passion).

Korra double-checked the address against the chit of paper in her hand. The door was dimly lit along the back wall of the building, with a small sign that said, “Republic City Wine Club.” She found herself wishing that she had told her friends about her plan after all, instead of eagerly rushing to the location; the last time someone had given her a tip, it had been a trap. Still, she had come this far, and times were getting desperate.

With a kiss to Naga’s nose, she left the polar bear dog in the alley and then walked casually across the street, pulling her hood over her head to obscure her face in shadow. The door swung open to reveal a small room with a podium, and a staircase. A girl sat behind the podium, reading a book; when Korra entered, she hastily stood and primped her too-red-to-be-natural hair. Her smile faded as her eyes locked on Korra.

“What are you doing?” she snapped. “Your client will be here any minute! Get upstairs.”

“Client?” repeated Korra.

“Your regular Thursday night.”

“Oh, of course.” Korra cleared her throat. “I’ll wait for him upstairs.”

“And change out of those rags. You’re supposed to be the Avatar, not a hobo.”

Korra flushed as she glanced down at her admittedly filthy outfit – underground living was taking a toll on her hygiene. “Yes,” she sputtered. “Right away.”

What the hell kind of place is this? She climbed the stairs, head spinning. A strip club, perhaps? But as she stepped into the hallway of the upper level and heard the sounds of creaking mattresses and groans from behind closed doors, the blood drained from her face. Why the hell is Amon coming to a brothel? It hurt her head to try to picture the masked monster as a regular man with needs and desires. Maybe it was a cover location for the Equalists, she reasoned; any visiting police would be far too distracted with the brothel to probe deeper into the building. She followed the hallway to its end; an empty room waited, the only one with its door open.

Her eyes widened as she glanced inside, and she took a step into the room. It was as if she were stepping into her own shrine: framed photos of her adorned the walls, tastefully framed. An exact replica of her jacket was folded neatly over a chair at the desk, and the bed was adorned with furs and blue fabrics that exactly matched the tint of her usual attire. Trembling, confused, she paced to the closet and opened the door, and almost staggered back as she saw outfit after outfit, replicas of every single one she had ever worn in public.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Korra whirled, panicked; the window was too small for her to fit through. The door was the only way out. With a curse, she dove into the closet, shutting the door behind her.

There were fine cracks between the slats of the closet door. As she tried to still her gasping breaths, she pressed her eye to a crack.

A girl stepped into the room, combing her fingers through silken brown hair as she closed the door behind her. She bent over the bed and straightened the covers, her back to the closet. Korra recognized her dress: an exact replica of her formal dress.

What the hell is this? Revulsion twisted Korra’s throat. There were sex workers dressing as her? Did people really see her as a sex object and not a symbol of hope or power? The thought made her want to scream and sob and punch through the closet door all at once.

When a knock sounded at the door, she gritted her teeth. Great. So she was going to be stuck watching a copy of herself have sex with a random person, while Amon did whatever business he had here and then got away. She had almost made up her mind to open the closet door and march out, taking any ensuing awkwardness in stride, but the girl answered the door.

A man pushed through it and tossed a bag onto the bed, freeing his hands to catch her face. He kissed her so fiercely that they staggered into the room together. The girl’s hands clenched his collar, pulling him in closer. Korra felt warmth kindle between her legs in spite of herself; having been carefully sheltered for most of her life, she was unaccustomed to seeing this kind of passion. The girl kicked the door closed and tried to break the kiss to speak, but the man interrupted her with another one, his head twisting to probe deeper.

Korra studied the man. He looked maybe mid-thirties, and was tall and broad-shouldered. His facial structure was handsome and suggested water tribe heritage, and his hair was immaculately groomed – at least, until the girl clawed her fingers into it and pulled. He let out a low, rumbling groan that made Korra’s knees week. The voice was deep and soft, almost a purr.

A little ashamed of the haze rising to her mind, she decided there might be worse places to be trapped. She held her breath, afraid to make even a tiny movement.

At last, they broke apart.

“It’s been so long,” said the girl. “And with the war-“

“I’m glad you are safe,” he whispered, smoothing the hair from her forehead. The whisper was generic enough, but something about the cadence of his words was familiar.

“And the real Avatar? You haven’t harmed her, right?” The girl’s lips quivered, revealing concern. Trying to laugh it off, she said, “You know that if she dies, I’m out of a job.”

“We both know I could never kill her,” said the man softly. “I am too weak.”

Recognition began to slowly dawn over Korra. She stared at the broad shoulders, the muscled calves, picturing them with different clothing. It can’t be…

“And I’m only fuelling that weakness. I can stop, if you want.” The girl pulled him in for another kiss.

He groaned into her mouth. “Never stop. I need this. I ache for this.” The voice’s harsh edges were softer, but unmistakeable. Korra felt a shudder ripple down her spine. No. Impossible!

“Mm, yes, I can feel how badly you need it.” The girl’s hips shifted against his; he groaned again and clutched her hips, grinding against her. “Then let us begin.” She bent to the side and lifted up the bag he had brought. “Tonight, as always, I am your Korra.”

His hand reached into the bag. He pulled out the mask, buckled it on, and Korra’s fingers clawed into the closet door as her world turned upside down.

.*.*.*.

“Amon,” said Korra-who-was-not-Korra, taking a step toward him. “It has been so long, and the world is in such disarray. I wondered if I would ever see you again.”

“Brace yourself, Young Avatar,” growled Amon. “My need has grown in our time apart. I do not know if I will be able to restrain myself.”

“Good.” Her hand clawed to the centre of his chest, her blue eyes sweet and lustful all at once. “Memories of our last time together have tormented me, every waking hour, every night ever since. I need you to take me. Hard. I need to feel you inside me.”

A soft thump sounded from the far wall, and Amon’s eyes snapped to it.

.*.*.*.

Korra braced herself against the far wall of the closet, struggling to keep her breaths under control. What the hell is this? This has to be a dream. A nightmare. She pinched her forearm and bit her lip at the spark of pain it produced. Oh spirits, this is real. Amon pays a sex worker to dress like me. Amon pays a sex worker to dress like me and then pretends he’s fucking me.

It took all her self-control not to throw open the door and confront him. How dare he? How dare he reduce her to an object to lust after? The disrespect of it! He should be fearing her, dreading their eventual showdown. She doubted Avatar Aang ever had this problem.

She also doubted that Avatar Aang would be so weak as to be aroused by the prospect. Her body was betraying her, a pool of dampness already forming in her underwear.

“What’s wrong?” said the girl’s voice. Korra pressed her face against the door crack. Amon was staring at the closet. Her breath caught in her throat and she held it, sweat beading on her temple.

At last, Amon looked away. “Just my imagination. Where were we?”

.*.*.*.

Amon gathered the girl into his arms, his hands roving absently up and down her back as he considered how to proceed. Now that he was aware of the beating heart in the closet, of the blood flowing through veins, he couldn’t drop it from his consciousness. It was a heart beat he knew all too well, as strong and fierce as its owner, a distinctive harmless murmur every fourth beat. He could feel it racing, and, more telling, could feel the blood rushing to her groin. Could feel her arousal.

“Amon?” asked the fake Korra, pulling away to look at him. “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”

He smoothed a knuckle along her jaw. “I have a lot on my mind.” His mind reeled: how should he handle this?

“Well, naturally. You have a lot to consider. I can help you forget.” With a mischievous smirk, she pressed a kiss to the centre of his chest, then began to trail downward. He dimly wondered how he felt about the girl exposing him in front of the Avatar, but as she yanked the pants off his hips and pulled him into her mouth, he decided he didn’t care. Her throat was hot and moist, and a loud moan sounded in his chest. She took him in deep, all the way to the hilt, then swirled her tongue around him as she slid back up to the tip. It was wrong, so wrong, but he found himself sensing both of their heartbeats, both Korras, and his mind began to fog.

.*.*.*.

Korra’s cheeks burned as she stared at the girl’s mouth, sucking off Amon with such skill and precision. He was swollen, purpled, straining, quivering. Her entire lower body cried out in need, her core clenching desperately around nothing until it ached. She couldn’t take it. She knew this was wrong, in so many ways, on so many levels, but the sight was so undeniably arousing that her hand plunged down her pants and she began to touch herself. Her mouth hung open, her tongue moving almost unconsciously, as if she, too, held him deep in her mouth.

.*.*.*.

Amon’s eyes screwed shut. She’s touching herself. Oh spirits, she’s watching this and she’s touching herself. He could sense it perfectly in his mind: two fingers of one hand gently swirling the nub between her legs, two fingers of the other plunging slowly between the folds. It was wrong, so wrong to trace her movements, to spy on her while she spied on him, to ignore the girl who was physically pleasuring him. So wrong. So wrong…

The girl between his legs let out a pleased hum and pulled away. “You’re so hard. I can feel how badly you want me, Amon; I can already taste you.”

At the words, the hands in the closet increased their tempo, and Amon felt himself begin to drift from his body. With a strangled groan, he hoisted the girl to her feet and tore off his mask, throwing it onto the bed. She stared after it, confusion written on her face.

“No more masks,” he said, still in character, but loudly enough for Korra to overhear. “No more lies. Tonight, Avatar, I want you to see me as I truly am. Outside this room, we are enemies by necessity, but in this room, we are safe. We can be vulnerable. We can be everything that our lives do not allow us to be.”

He felt Korra’s movements stop, felt her hold her breath.

His eyes opened and he stared down at the girl in front of him. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “This isn’t fair to you. None of this has been.”

“Hey, I’m the one who’s getting paid to do this,” said the false Korra, oblivious. “Don’t pity me. Tell me what to do.”

“Jump up and wrap your legs around me.”

As she obeyed, he caught her and staggered to the closet, slamming her back against the door to hold her in place. He could feel Korra inches away from them, separated only by the thin slab of wood.

The other Korra gripped him and guided him inside her. Their foreheads pressed together as she traced the border of his mouth with her tongue. He growled and lunged, biting her lips as his hips began to rock into her.

One of his hands pressed flat against the closet door, and he wished that he could push right through it to touch the Avatar on the other side.

.*.*.*.

Korra knew it was risky to continue this close, that they might discover her. She was so wet by now that even touching her flesh was audible, and she could taste Amon’s breath through the cracks in the closet door. This close, she could see his face in full detail, its creases so pained and needy that her hands began to move again in spite of the risks. His hand was pressed against the closet door, and she leaned into it, pressing her breast against the palm, wishing desperately that the door wasn’t there.

This was wrong, so wrong, but it felt so good that her eyelids fluttered closed, her eyes rolling toward the back of the head. She mashed her breast harder against the door, the nipple hardening with the imagined heat of his hand – she could almost feel movement against her skin, as if energies were swirling just beneath the surface, as if he were somehow reaching into her to caress her.

On the other side of the door, the girl was starting to cry out in time with the thrusts, and Korra could hear the slap of wet skin against wet skin, soft grunts leaving Amon’s mouth. Those grunts, so primal, so strained. Her hands sped up, every muscle in her body aching for him.

“Do you feel me inside you, Avatar?” he rasped. “Do you feel how you strip away all my control, how you leave me a desperate man, starving for you?”

“Yes,” gasped the girl on the other side of the closet, and Korra mouthed the word with her. Hot liquid rolled down the back of her hand, and a third finger joined the other two inside her, almost unconsciously, almost as if she couldn’t control their movements. She plunged as deeply as she could reach, all the way to the knuckles, and the first waves of orgasm threatened to rise in her chest. She fought to suppress them, but each shift of her fingers, each groan from Amon, chipped away at her resolve.

.*.*.*.

Amon’s fingers clawed into closet door, using his bending to gently tug Korra’s nipple on the other side, and his mind began to haze. He felt the girl he had hired clenching around him, bearing down, ready to release. Through the closet, he could sense Korra doing the same, tightening around her thrusting fingers.

“Come for me, Avatar,” he growled. “I want you to come for me.”

The two Korras released together, the cries and spasms of the girl around his waist melding with the writhing he sensed within the closet. His head was floating now, barely above the surface, and he took tortured gasps as he tried to avoid sinking just a moment longer.

The girl around his waist pushed him away, disconnected from him, dropped. She knelt in front of him. Her mouth was hot and he leaned against the closet door, forehead and hands pressed to the wood. He felt Korra do the same on the other side, tasted her breath through the cracks as the girl between his legs sucked and stroked him.

.*.*.*.

“I want to see you come, Amon,” whispered Korra, still dizzy with her release. She thought the words were too soft to hear, but he reacted as if she had yelled them. His rising moan rocketed through her, made her muscles clench one last time, as if her body had been waiting for him before it would allow her to fully finish. His palms slammed into the door, making her jump, and he yelled behind clenched teeth: “Fuck!”

Then a wail, frantic thrusting hips, a final groan. His clenched muscles relaxed. He slowly slid down the door, landing on his knees. The other girl gathered him in her arms, and Korra was surprised to feel a wave of jealousy as he clung to her.

.*.*.*.

Amon pressed his cheek to the girl he held in his arms. “Run away with me, Avatar,” he said, still panting. “We can forget what we are. Start a new life together.”

There was a long pause before the girl said, “I’m not the real Avatar, Amon.”

Remembering himself, he swallowed hard, broke away from her and stood. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. What I want can never be.” He pulled up his pants, straightened his jacket and then lifted his mask off the bed. It smirked at him. Judging him.

The girl ran a hand along his arm. “I’m not going to see you again, am I?”

He shook his head no. “It is getting too risky. Others have figured out that I’m sneaking away.”

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I’ve enjoyed our time together.” She pulled him in for a final kiss, then her hand cupped his cheek. “I still think you should try talking to her. You’re going to regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t at least find out how she feels about you.”

He turned to stare at the closet, his heart heavy. “It doesn’t matter. Like me, her goals are too important to abandon for the sake of lust. Neither of us would abandon our duties. It is one of the many ways we are alike.”

He felt Korra press her palm to the closet, felt her face collapse.

The girl beside him slowly shook her had. “That’s such a shame.”

“Indeed it is.” He pulled out a fold of notes and pressed them into her hand. “Thank you for everything. Truly. Stay safe.”

With one last look at the closet, he whispered, “Goodbye,” and then departed.

.*.*.*.

It is one of the many ways we are alike.

Korra sank to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest, swallowing the lump in her throat.

In a moment, she would listen for the coast to be clear, then step outside the closet door and go back to hunting him, go back to trying to bring down his regime.

But for a just a minute longer, she clung to the words, to the taste of his breath, to the heat of his palms curling against her own…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Chapters 3 & 4 are planned, but I'm not sure when I'll be writing them...


End file.
